“That’s it, I suppose,” he said, and pointed to a short notice.
“X-ray Operator Killed,” was the caption. “Found Dead in Office in Watts Building.” He had read the brief item many times.
“That’s what we let the reporters have,” said the Chief.
“Was he”—the operative hesitated for a moment—“pretty well fried?”
“Quite!”
“And the machine?”
“Broken glass and melted metal. He smashed it as he fell.”
“The Eye of Allah,” mused Delamater. “Poor devil—poor, crazy devil. Well, we gambled—and we won. How about the rest of the bet? Do I get the Mint?”
“Hell, no!” said the Chief. “Do you expect to win all the time? They want to know why it took us so long to get him.
“Now, there’s a little matter out in Ohio, Del, that we’ll have to get after—”